Read Online Enchanted Pilgrimage by Clifford D. Simak - Free Book Online

rafter goblin.”
    â€œHello, Oliver,” said Sniveley. “And would you please tell me just what in hell is a rafter goblin? I’ve heard of all sorts of goblins …”
    â€œMy domicile,” said Oliver, “is the rafters in the roof atop the library at the University of Wyalusing. I have come here on a quest.”
    Coon, who had been hidden from view, walking sedately behind Hal, made a beeline for Gib and leaped into his lap. He nuzzled Gib’s neck and nibbled carefully at his ears. Gib batted at him. “Cut it out,” he said. “Your whiskers tickle and your teeth are sharp.” Coon went on nibbling.
    â€œHe likes you,” said Hal. “He has always liked you.”
    â€œWe have heard of a pack-train killing,” said the goblin, Oliver. “Word of it put much fear in me. We came to inquire if you might have the details.”
    Sniveley made a thumb at Gib. “He can tell you all about it. He found one human still alive.”
    Oliver swung on Gib. “There was one still alive? Is he still alive? What might be his name?”
    â€œHe is still alive,” said Gib. “His name is Mark Cornwall.”
    Oliver slowly sat down on the floor. “Thank all the powers that be,” he murmured. “He is still alive and well?”
    â€œHe took a blow on the head,” said Gib, “and a slash on his arm, but both head and arm are healing. Are you the goblin that he told me of?”
    â€œYes, I am. I advised him to seek out a company of traders and to flee with them. But that was before I knew to whom that cursed monk sold his information. Much good that it did him, for he got his throat slit in the bargain.”
    â€œWhat is going on?” squeaked Sniveley. “What is all this talk of throat slitting and of fleeing. I dislike the sound of it.”
    Quickly Oliver sketched the story for him. “I felt that I was responsible for the lad,” he said. “After all, I got myself involved …”
    â€œYou spoke,” said Gib, “of this human to whom the monk sold his information.”
    â€œThat’s the crux of it,” said Oliver. “He calls himself Lawrence Beckett and pretends to be a trader. I don’t know what his real name is, and I suppose it does not matter, but I know he’s not a trader. He is an agent of the Inquisition and the most thoroughgoing ruffian in the border country.…”
    â€œBut the Inquisition,” said Sniveley. “It is …”
    â€œSure,” said Oliver. “You know what it is supposed to be. The militant arm of the Church, with its function to uproot heresy, although heresy, in many instances, is given a definition which far outstrips the meaning of the term. When its agents turn bad, and most of them turn bad, they become a law unto themselves. No one is safe from them, no perfidy too low.…”
    â€œYou think,” said Gib, “that this Beckett and his men massacred the pack train?”
    â€œI would doubt very much they did the actual killing. But I am certain it was arranged by Beckett. He got word to someone.”
    â€œIn hopes of killing Mark?”
    â€œWith the certainty of killing Mark. That was the only, purpose of it. All were supposed to be killed. According to what you say, they stripped Mark, took everything he had. They thought that he was dead, although probably they did not know that the purpose of the attack was to kill one certain man.”
    â€œThey didn’t find the page of manuscript. He had it in his boot.”
    â€œThey weren’t looking for the manuscript. Beckett thought he had it. He stole it from Mark’s room.”
    â€œThe fake,” said Hal. “The copy.”
    â€œThat is right,” said Oliver.
    â€œAnd you came all this way,” said Gib, “to warn him against Beckett before it was too late.”
    â€œI was responsible. And I was late. Small thanks to me that